


The Interrogation of Ms. Pyrope

by horrorpeach, MadSeason (naive_wanderer)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:09:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorpeach/pseuds/horrorpeach, https://archiveofourown.org/users/naive_wanderer/pseuds/MadSeason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An HSO Round 2 submission for Team Dave<3Terezi.  In which Terezi Pyrope discovers that she can't always turn a blind eye to her feelings.  A missing scene that takes place after Terezi doofs Karkat in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interrogation of Ms. Pyrope

**Author's Note:**

> Art by MadSeason, story by Melindil

The world is a blur. Well, the world is always a blur to your nose, but it’s blurrier than usual. Sounds, scents, flavors, everything blends together into one huge jumble that looks like the art project of a wiggler who doesn't know a damn thing about colors. There is something warm and wet pouring down your face and the very distinct scent associated with it is obfuscating your vision. You are peripherally aware of Karkat to your right. He is trying to touch your face. You don’t want him to touch you. You don’t want anyone to touch you and you don’t want anyone to talk to you and if Karkat does not back off-

You violently shove him aside as you sprint toward the transportalizer. You don’t know if Karkat is trying to be a good friend or a good leader or if he is trying to antagonize you, but you don’t care right now. All you know is that if you stay here, questions are going to be asked and none will be questions you want to answer.  


  
[   
](http://media.photobucket.com/image/http3a2f2fi5photobucketcom2falbums2fy1622fchrystaline2favoid-ify-animatedgif/Chrystaline/avoid-ify-animated.gif)   


As you reappear on the other side, it occurs to you that you’re not even sure where it is that you plan on going; all you know is that you have to be away from everyone else. Everything is going so wrong and you don’t know why but you do know that you can’t fall apart in front of your friends. You just need to be alone. The only way you are going to be able to sort yourself out is if you can find a quiet place where you can sit and think. You need figure out why you feel so sad and why you feel so terrible for killing Dave.

As you hurry aimlessly through the dark halls, you realize for the first time that you do not like this place. Everything always seems so dark and always smells… wrong. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but something just isn’t right. Everything about this place feels cold and uninviting and, as a troll, you know you shouldn’t be bothered. Even so, this place is unnerving. These thoughts are interrupted as your foot catches on a hidden obstruction in your path. You trip and fall. The floor scrapes your palms and as the rest of your body catches up, the scent of cotton candy flavored bubblegum assaults your senses. You’re bleeding. The pain sets in an instant later. You’re too focused on climbing back to your feet to take much notice. Now, more than ever, you wish you were back at your hive. What you really need right now is to burrow yourself into a pile of scalemates and hold a private feelings jam. Sadly, most had disappeared, probably stowed away in the multitude of chests in this place. You would have to look for them later. Right now, all you want is solitude.

You turn right and enter a corridor. It doesn’t seem familiar, but you’re not sure that even your own recuperacoon would seem familiar to you at the present moment. You sense that the hallway ends just ahead, probably turning into one of those strange metal peninsulas surrounded by vast nothingness. You slow your pace. You decide that this is as good a place as any to sit. There are a few of those ubiquitous chests nearby but you doubt anyone will come to search the contents. Your friends are preoccupied by their own problems. If they suddenly feel the need to engage in a scavenger hunt, there are plenty of chests closer to the computer lab. These chests, though, they are yours. They will serve as witnesses in the emotional trial of Terezi Pyrope, passing silent judgment on your actions and your feelings. They will listen but never speak. Your secrets will remain safe with them.

You sit on the floor a short distance from the edge and scoot closer, allowing your legs to dangle over the side. The bottomless pits in this place never strike you as scary, but there is certainly something about them that seems mildly unsettling. There is nothing, not even a hint of scent in the air to indicate what might lie at the bottom, if there even is a bottom. The scent of the blood oozing from your hands fills your nose, since there is little else here to dilute the odor. As you lift your hands to your face to lick the blood away, you realize that your tear ducts are still quite active, secreting more and more of the teal ocular discharge that you rarely produce.

You never cry. You never have a reason to cry. So why are you crying right now? Why are you crying over Dave? You have no reason to be so upset. You were just doing your job as Seer of Mind, to help your friends understand themselves and their role in the game. You frown in frustration but you receive no response from the darkness. It is unaware of your entire existence and it cares not for the emotional plight of a six-sweep-old Alternian. It reminds you of how vulnerable and alone you are out here in the Veil. The frown begins to dissolve and you cry harder.

As much as you need to be alone right now, you realize that you are also in need of some sort of comfort. You are a troll after all, and even trolls need hugs once in a while. Luckily, you have a friend stashed away in your sylladex. You retrieve him using your beloved scratch and sniff modus and you are greeted by the wonderful and soothing fragrance of a very specific type of fruit-flavored milkshake (of course trolls have milkshakes! You would not want to live in a world where such a delicious treat did not exist!).

“Why, Prosecutor Peachtail!” you declare through your tears, your voice quivering. “Fancy meeting you here!” The plush dragon merely utters a rather half-hearted squeak as you crush him to your chest. There is something reassuring in that sound.

It is a few moments before you are once again able to form coherent thoughts. Prosecutor Peachtail stares up at you, his sad lime green eyes filled with accusations. You gasp and hold him at arm’s length. “Prosecutor, are you saying what I believe you are saying? I am appalled! You truly wish to interrogate me?” In your imagination, the dragon nods once, up, down, and back to center. “Fine! I have nothing to hide!"

 _Very well, Ms. Pyrope_ , he growls. _Let us begin. Tell me about the last interaction you had with one Mr. Dave Strider._

“Well, Mr. Prosecutor, Mr. Strider had been pestering me about the future. He seemed to be concerned about the idea of reaching the god tiers. I suspect his obsession with doing so is the result of living in the shadows of a brother and friend, both of whom he holds in high regard. Mr. Strider has rather low self-esteem, you see, and it is my personal belief that he thinks that reaching god tier will somehow answer all his questions regarding his identity.” You take a moment to clear your throat in a dramatic fashion before continuing your story. “I took it upon myself to show him that reaching god tier is not necessary for him to be heroic and discover who he is!”

 _And how did you hope to accomplish that?_ Presecutor Peachtail asks. The voice in your mind is stern, but friendly, and you find yourself warming to the sound. You remind yourself that you are just roleplaying with your beloved scalemate. Everyone knows that toy dragons cannot actually talk!

“Easy!” you say. “By showing him that his life and his destiny are ultimately his to control! And in order for Dave to realize that he has the power to become who he wants to be, he had to come to terms with his own mortality. He had to be the one to hold the sword, to understand that he cannot be afraid of death if he is to reach his full potential. He is so afraid of dying that he holds back and doesn’t allow himself to explore his own identity. For him to stand there over his own sleeping form, to decide if killing himself was worth the risk, was for Dave to literally face his mortality. He could not run, could not escape.” You are unable to continue recounting your tale to the prosecutor. The memory of Dave and his anger and frustration, the subsequent death of Kiwi Suit Dave, it was all too much to bear. You hurt someone you cared about. It was necessary, of course, but it resulted in upsetting one Dave and killing another. What if he never wants to talk to you again, despite what he said about not being mad? You don’t like that idea. It is painful to think about.

The tears that had finally begun to dry upon your cheeks are drowned by another rush of teal fluid. Prosecutor Peachtail extends a single claw and pats your shoulder (really it is just you holding out his arm to touch your own shoulder but shhhh you are pretending). It is a simple gesture that says _it’s okay to cry, take your time, get back to the story whenever you are able_. You nod gratefully and use his other arm to wipe away the fresh tears.

You take a deep breath; slowly inhale and slowly exhale. Now that you have regained some semblance of composure, you are ready to continue your story. “And he couldn’t do it. He could not kill himself, could not do what was necessary to ascend to the god tiers. But he does not need to ascend to the god tiers! He is perfect, just the way he is. He just needs to realize that for himself. And then he just walked away, leaving… leaving poor, doomed, kiwi-suited Dave to his fate.” You sniffle. Poor doomed Dave. His blood is all over your hands. Well, not literally, since the blood on your hands right now is your own. But figuratively.

 _Very good. However, you have seen friends die before, have you not?_ The prosecutor tilts his head, appearing to be genuinely interested in her answer to this particular question.

“I am a troll. That is like asking if I have ever celebrated Twelfth Perigrees Eve. Of course I have!” You frown at the prosecutor. “What kind of question is that?”

 _An important one. You readily admit that you have seen friends die, but is this often how you react to said event?_

You ponder that question for a moment. You also ponder the prosecutor’s motive for asking such a question. It seems odd. “No it is not. It is imperative that we trolls come to terms with death at a young age. In such a violent culture, we will inevitably witness the deaths of individuals close to us.”

 _Then what is different about the death of this young kiwi-suited human?_ Prosecutor Peachtail’s eyes are simultaneously curious and accusatory as he poses the question. You do not like this turn of events. What is this dragon suggesting?

“It is different because it is my fault,” you say. “I was responsible for planting the idea in his head and causing the offshoot timeline. Poor doomed Dave had no idea what he was in for. When I offered the coin flip, I knew it would present an offshoot timeline. Offshoot timelines usually mean dead Daves.”

 _Yet you have been responsible for the deaths of others and you did not cry then. You also knew that it was inevitable that you would witness the death of your friend if you were to carry out this course of action. My previous question still stands: what is different about this human?_   


  
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](http://media.photobucket.com/image/http3a2f2fi5photobucketcom2falbums2fy1622fchrystaline2fthoughts2dark-1png/Chrystaline/thoughts2dark-1.png)   


“Mr. Prosecutor, are you implying something?” You narrow your eyes and inhale deeply. The decadent fragrance of peach milkshakes topped with lime is a tempting distraction, but you can smell something more sinister underneath. The usually upstanding prosecutor was playing a dangerous game. Rarely does anyone question your motives. Never does anyone question your feelings. You do not even question your own feelings, but to be quite honest, you often prefer to forget you have feelings at all. Emotions only serve to obscure the path of the Seer. They get in the way, make one blind to the truth. Of course, you are already blind, but dammit that is not the point! Your physical blindness simply serves to hone your senses and make you a better Seer. You would never allow your feelings to get in the way of your duties. Not that you are currently having feelings for Dave because you most certainly are not and you are certainly not letting them get in the way of anything!

It is evident to you that Prosecutor Peachtail, who has up until now been a reliable and unbiased party, is working for an enemy. What enemy, you do not know, but clearly someone is trying to undermine your skills and destroy your reputation. Implying that you are allowing emotions to get in the way of your job? Absurd! Sure you are upset and you were crying but you are under a lot of stress. Any troll under your circumstances would react the same way! You are Terezi Pyrope, not the ghost of Aradia Megido. You still have emotions from time to time, even if you ignore them!

You tell the Prosecutor as much. He merely sighs. _Ms. Pyrope, he says sadly, I assure you, I am not trying to ruin you. I simply believe that there is more to the story than you wish to admit._

Before, you were simply agitated by the Prosecutor. Now you are just angry. All of your previous sadness has evaporated, much like the tears that are no longer upon your cheeks. How dare he say such a thing! “Mr. Prosecutor, I will not stand to hear such blasphemies spewing forth from your traitorous mouth!”

 _So then you deny that perhaps there is a chance that your friendship with Mr. Strider may be approaching a color similar to that of said human male’s eyes?_

That is it. You have had enough of the prosecutor’s disingenuous assertions. Suggesting that you allowed your emotions to get in the way of your job is one thing, but implying that you have flushed feelings for a human, for Dave, was the last straw. You stare at the plush dragon whose neck was currently caught in the vice-like grip of your narrow fingers. With a strangled cry, you hurl the asshole into the blackness. You watch the plush descend into emptiness, your face twisted into a sneer.  


  
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](http://media.photobucket.com/image/http3a2f2fi5photobucketcom2falbums2fy1622fchrystaline2fpeachtail-fallsgif/Chrystaline/peachtail-falls.gif)   


And yet, part of you wonders if maybe he had a point. After all, stuffed animals can’t talk. You know it was all your mind trying to make sense of the situation and projecting onto the soft toy. No. No, no, no. You can’t be flushed for Dave. You can’t. That would mean that you pity him. You most certainly do not. Sure, you get frustrated with him but you do not feel sorry for him. Do you?

With a frustrated sigh, you rest your elbows upon your knees and place your chin in your hands. You're really starting to think the prosecutor might have had a point, though even wild hoofbeasts would never be able to drag that confession out of you. You wouldn’t define your relationship to Dave as flushed, but it was certainly unlike anything you have experienced before. There is no word for it in the troll language, of that you are sure. Troll emotions are defined by pity or hate; you don’t think you feel either. You wonder if humans have a word for how you feel toward Dave. You know that they experience romance in ways for which trolls have no word. Could this be---wait, what is that loud noise behind you? What is that scent? It is vaguely familiar… chocolatey…

Your feelings will have to wait. There has been a murder and only you, Terezi Pyrope, can be counted upon to solve the case.


End file.
